


Waiting for Peace

by Ulan



Series: Something Lost, Something Found [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (with a happy ending?), Angst, Downfall of Númenor, Lindon, M/M, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Second Age, War of the Last Alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: After all this time, this was how his love greeted him: "You come yet again at a time of war."And Glorfindel knew things were still not going to be easy.Given who they were, it was a long wait towards settling down, especially when it was not in the way of Elves to wed in times of war.(Prompt #43 - "I will not lose you again!")





	Waiting for Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



> This is prompt #43 (“I will not lose you again!”) on the [100 Writing Prompts](https://glorfindel-of-imladris.tumblr.com/post/166830382154/100-writing-prompts) list I have in my Tumblr. This is also a sequel to 'Something Lost, Something Found'. I think it would be best to read the first story, but enough about it is mentioned to make this one understandable without it.
> 
> For RaisingCaiin, who requested the prompt. My dear, when I saw the prompt you picked, I knew what I was going to write, but I also had to scratch my head at how I can manage it without writing a saga. :P But I have a lot of fondness for this universe where Glorfindel and Erestor met in the First Age, but had to wait until another life to be together, and so I also wanted to write it.

After all this time, this was how his love greeted him: "You come yet again at a time of war."

And Glorfindel knew things were still not going to be easy. 

 

 

They met once, literally a lifetime ago and against all odds. Glorfindel was ever loyal to Turgon; _he_ , on the other hand, marched with the sons of Fëanor. They were not enemies, but neither were they quite allies, and many in Gondolin would have said that they would not trust a Fëanorian as far as they could throw them. 

But many stories have been said about love and first meetings. Having long lived in the quiet of solitude, Glorfindel had begun to think such things as idle fancies, invented by lovers after the fact once they have been inspired by their own experience of romance. 

Yet on that fateful day---after losing Aredhel and after having known the treacherous stretch of the Nan Dugortheb---he stood before Glorfindel like harsh sunlight after dark days. Glorfindel's fated one was a terrible force on their first meeting, an Elf of power with the shadow of many battles in his eyes. He was intimidatingly beautiful, looking down upon them with that great fortress behind him, his hair blown about him by harsh winds.

Glorfindel wanted him the moment he saw him. 

But that had been a brief moment in time, one that could not last and they both knew it. Aredhel still needed finding and there was no peace to be found in Himring, nor could Gondolin lose a captain, should Glorfindel decide to stay. And so they had one night, not nearly long enough, but Glorfindel thereafter comforted himself with the thought that it was not as if more nights, not even more years, would have been enough to satisfy him. He would miss him all the same; more time would not have made any difference.  

After that meeting, Glorfindel lived for a while again in relative peace, hidden in the vale of Tumladen. Meanwhile, his love resided at the very mouth of danger, where his morning view consisted of grey skies and Thangorodrim looming in the distance. 

All things considered, they both probably expected Erestor to die first. 

 

 

"Glorfindel of Gondolin."

Ereinion Gil-galad claimed that he had been forewarned of Glorfindel's coming, though he still seemed impressed with Glorfindel. 

"Your legend precedes you," said the High King. 

Glorfindel tipped his head modestly. "What legend this is, I almost dread to know."

"You shall hear it soon enough, whether you wish to or not. There are a few here who hailed from your Gondolin, although none of them are in this room. Here, let me introduce you." 

It was almost a relief to look in the direction that Gil-galad indicated, for Glorfindel had been keeping himself from looking since the moment he arrived. 

"This is Elrond, my herald," said the king, pointing to a dark-haired Elf whom Glorfindel did not recognise. Eärendil had been but a child the last time Glorfindel had seen him, after all. He only had a moment's opportunity to smile at the kind-faced Elf introduced as Eärendil's son before Gil-galad was nodding at the Elf beside Elrond. "And that there is Erestor, one of my counsellors and Elrond's most trusted. A curious choice given how unfriendly he looks, but they have a long history."

Glorfindel only caught the look the counsellor gave the High King at the jest before those sharp eyes were upon him. Words escaped Glorfindel. 

"We have met," said Erestor. 

Gil-galad looked surprised. "Have you? You certainly work fast, don't you, Erestor?"

 

 

The cruel thing was that when they met, they did not stop at merely meeting.

They should have, though. It was not long before they both realised that they were not going to see each other again after that encounter. But as certain as that had been, so was the conviction that they knew who the other was. Erestor recognised him as soon as Glorfindel had done and there had been no reason to deny it. And how could he? He had stood transfixed looking up from those steps as surely as a moth caught in the glow of an evening flame, and his companions immediately saw it.  

Himring was hardly the most welcoming place in Beleriand, but Glorfindel and his comrades had been served dinner, were even afforded some conversation, how ever stilted it had been. They had been given news of the happenings around Thangorodrim, the politics of the time, were even later given their maps, as promised. All valuable things, but Glorfindel had not been able keep his focus on them completely, for always across from him stood Erestor---cold, stoic, beautiful Erestor, who caught all of Egalmoth's challenges just as he caught all of Glorfindel's glances. 

It was one night---too short a time to get to know somebody, too short to fall in love. But that evening, a knock came upon Glorfindel's door just as he had expected (hoped, anticipated and dreaded, all in equal parts), and it was then that he learned that a single night was enough for deep conversation, to know someone's name and know where he was from, why he was where he was, to see the good in him. The same night could even be long enough for a kiss, and even more than this. That night, Glorfindel learned that although Erestor was indeed sharp, he was not so sharp that he could not be held. He was surprisingly smooth and warm skin under Glorfindel's touch, and his gasps and stifled moans were sweeter music than any song Glorfindel had ever heard. 

Long had been that night, at least for all it seemed later on that so much had happened. But at the time it had seemed too short, for Glorfindel would have wanted more, and yet too soon did he learn that Himring, with its grey skies and eternal fogs on the lower hills, saw magnificent sunrises.

"We will come to regret this," were Erestor's words afterwards, when Arien burned red against the walls of Glorfindel's temporary rooms. 

"Then," Glorfindel had said at the time, "as we cannot undo what has been done, let us make the most of it."

As he also much later learned, someone needed not be around for one to fall in love with them. Glorfindel had known Erestor enough, tasted of him enough, for his heart to run away with its memories and do with them what it will. Erestor had never been to Gondolin, never even beheld its closed gates nor the mountains that protected them, but that did not mean that Glorfindel never saw him walk in its white halls or in the vast gardens of the Golden Flower. He saw Erestor as clearly as though he was truly there. 

For many years, although he was far away, Erestor was ever with Glorfindel. 

 

 

After all of that, after so long, sometimes, seeing Erestor in Lindon just felt overwhelming. 

"At least tell me if I wait for nothing."

It was astonishing what centuries could do. Glorfindel would recognise him anywhere, but that was not to say that Erestor looked the same as he had in Himring. The years had aged him in ways only a thousand years could do, but he stood in the afternoon light still everything that Glorfindel had ever wanted, though cold in a way that was by now almost his signature. He still felt too far, for all that Glorfindel could now stretch his arm to touch him. 

Erestor turned to him. "What is it that you wait for?"

"I have returned." It was uncomfortable to point out such a thing. He felt foolish to expect for things to happen, that it could be so simple, for looking at Erestor now, Glorfindel could see that something held the other back. "I can see, somehow, that it is not easy for you, but beyond this, I know little. I wish to understand more. What keeps you?" 

Erestor was silent for a time. Lindon's breeze, Lindon's light, it all suited him, or so Glorfindel thought. Part of Glorfindel was content to stand there in silence with him, for at the very least, Erestor painted a pretty picture to look at. It tasted of peace, just being around him.

Glorfindel had caught Erestor walking in the gardens, and so it was on one of those benches there that Erestor moved to sit. His eyes were not on Glorfindel, but were far away. 

"We should do it right this time around. These are turbulent times yet," he eventually said. "Do you have any idea what it was like? My masters thought I was dying, and because tidings of your kingdom always came to us late, no one knew then that Gondolin was no more." He laughed humourlessly and shook his head. "Still, I was not stupid, that night's indiscretion notwithstanding. I thought I sensed you falling, although I was never sure until many years later, when the war was over and I heard songs of you here in Lindon. They sang of you, when it was time again to sing. After wars, laments are sung most frequently."

Glorfindel wondered at all that remained unsaid. Looking at him now---the dead look in his eyes, his pallor---Glorfindel could tell that Erestor's words only skimmed the surface of whatever the end had been like for him. He doubted, however, that the full story would be something Erestor would willingly describe. But if things had been bad enough for him to be threatened by fading, and given the things that Glorfindel himself went through at a time when he thought that it was Erestor who fell, he thought he could understand. 

Their connection had already grown cold, that much he could tell. It was only to be expected after all that had transpired. Glorfindel barely felt Erestor after years in Gondolin, nearly not at all when he walked again in Aman. It saddened him, but he could understand how it could also feel like safety, especially to Erestor.

"What song is this?" was all that his coward's heart could take to ask. 

Erestor looked up at him, hard expression and soft, long lashes---a beautiful conundrum. 

"You can search for it yourself," he said. "I do not know the words, for I never wanted to sing it."

 

 

After their first meeting, and after their parting, the years thereafter were cruel. They were not even able to find Aredhel, and so after a year of searching, Glorfindel and his comrades had to return to Gondolin to report her loss to their king. 

The gates were closed behind them again, and for years after that, Glorfindel wondered if he made the right choice. Ecthelion made it especially difficult to stand by his choice, for his old friend would shake his head at Glorfindel over mugs of ale, when they had drunk enough for Glorfindel's mouth to run loose. Free from the confines of propriety and all that made him leave Himring and return to Gondolin, he would utter Erestor's name and, if Ecthelion were to be trusted, he would utter it over and over until the bottles were empty and he drank himself to a stupor. 

Erestor remained with him in his mind; if he concetrated hard enough, he could even feel the other's smooth skin against him still. But the years passed quickly and the memories faded as they were wont, so that eventually it became difficult to recall the sound of Erestor's voice, or smell around him the perfume Erestor used on his hair. 

Many years later, tidings came of a union that would challenge the might of Thangorodrim. The then High King Fingon, Turgon's brother, would join with Maedhros and his brothers, their allies to march with them to finally end the war wrought by Morgoth. When Turgon bade his captains to march out with him to Thangorodrim, Ecthelion had caught Glorfindel's eyes. Glorfindel understood. 

Ever had Erestor been a mix of things for him, and even then, although Glorfindel's heart skipped a beat at the possibility of seeing the other Elf again, so did it also grow cold with fear. The battlefield was hardly anywhere one would want to see a lover's face, and the Union of Maedhros hardly sounded like it would result in a simple battle. 

In the end, Glorfindel did not see Erestor in those fields. That was no comfort, however, for the reason they could not join with Maedhros was because they were busy with things on their own side. From where they were, they could see there was trouble with the Fëanoryn, but there was little chance to do anything about it when they had their own problem to withstand. When Fingon fell, nothing was more important than to get Turgon out of those fields. Glorfindel needed not even be told; it was even he who pulled Ecthelion to leave, and they flanked Turgon on both sides and led their army out. 

 

 

Looking back, perhaps he could understand the reason for Erestor's hesitation. News of the battle in the Anfauglith eventually reached Gondolin. They called it the "Battle of Unnumbered Tears", for their losses were devastating. No kingdom had been spared, and for all that Gondolin returned with but a portion of the numbers they left with, theirs had been the least of the deaths.

Morgoth laid waste to the kingdoms of Beleriand, not least of which was Himring. The stronghold, greatest of Beleriand's defenses for many years, was no more. 

Those were painful years. Glorfindel did not even know if the truth of the legends about lovers extended to being able to sense their demise. In the years that he saw Erestor in the empty rooms of his own House in Gondolin, when he thought he even felt the other with him on sleepless nights when the longing grew the strongest, he never knew if that had been their faer truly being joined or it was merely wishful thinking. Love, Glorfindel discovered, was all of many things---sweet, cruel, wonderful, treacherous. It kept him in the dark for all that he saw the world at its brightest when he was with Erestor. 

Until his own death, Glorfindel never even knew if Erestor was still alive. But if that had been what it was like when one's mate was alive, and they said that the actual loss was much worse, then Glorfindel could not even begin to imagine what it had been like for Erestor. 

 

 

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"

Every once in a while, Erestor would deign to stand with him. There was no pattern to it. Gil-galad remarked on it once, saying that it seemed as though sometimes they were friends, and then sometimes strangers. Glorfindel did not know how to explain it to him. 

He saw little of Erestor as it was, but then there they were, looking at Elrond's Imladris as it stood before them now. The long siege was over, or at least Sauron's attacks were growing fewer and farther between, enough for the Elves to be able to build beyond watch towers and extending the barracks. 

"It is," said Glorfindel. 

"How long would it last, you think?"

Glorfindel looked at him, unsure what he meant. 

"Peace can last for many years," said Erestor, his eyes fixed on the Elves working to wrap vines around the stone railings of a balcony. It was purely cosmetic and served no practical purpose, which was a new thing for Imladris. Erestor, however, still looked subdued. "Time and time again, I find that it never lasts long enough."

 

 

Glorfindel did not live in Imladris. He could hardly leave the High King, nor the army with which he was entrusted.

In the end, Erestor was right. Peace was one thing; to share it was another. 

It was not exactly like Himring and Gondolin. Lindon and Imladris were allies, but they were separated by enough distance that to travel from one to the other on a whim would have been impractical. Neither Glorfindel nor Erestor were ranked low enough for messenger duties, and so more often than not, tidings were brought to them than the other way around. 

Things remained that way for many years. 

 

 

Things settled for some time, though there were still things that seemed to brew beneath the surface. Sauron's hand might have been stayed, but he dwelt in Middle-Earth still, and Lindon remained wary. Trouble also ever seemed to grow in Númenor, and as the years passed, fewer and fewer Elves were welcomed into the island kingdom. 

Glorfindel saw the way it unsettled Gil-galad. While Lindon still held power for most of the western realms, a shadow loomed in the east. They heard of shades wandering on black horses, sighted along the roads, and Men were losing people in the old trade routes that had long been safe for them. Times gradually changed, slowly but surely, until what they had was but a tenuous peace. Lindon's army kept Glorfindel busy. 

Time came when they heard tidings of Númenor marching to Mordor and subsequently holding Sauron prisoner. Ar-Pharazôn was a proud Man and did not listen to Gil-galad though the other sent messengers, even knowing that his warnings would fall on deaf ears. 

That, perhaps, had been the beginning. Or perhaps it began long ago, at Gwathló, in Eregion, even as far back as Glorfindel's coming to a Lindon that was in need of aid. 

Few things brought Elrond to Lindon in those days, but the loss of Númenor was nothing they had seen, not for a long time. 

"Did you ever see it in Mandos where you dwelt, in Vairë's tapestries, when the earth changed until Beleriand was no more?"

Fate truly was a merciless mistress. Why was it that whenever Glorfindel saw Erestor's face, he could not be completely happy?

Erestor's voice, when he spoke, was eerily calm. "All of it happened in the passing of years. It was nothing like this." 

In the distance where they had always known Númenor to be, a bright light could still be seen even from as far as where Lindon stood. It had been there for days. They said that Númenor was no more. It was Elrond who knew and sensed it the strongest, from whatever connection he had with that land, and it was he who brought the news to Gil-galad though they were yet to hear the truth about what went on in the island kingdom. 

Long after that light was gone, they still felt some of its aftershocks. The lands shook beneath them in tremors that ranged from low vibrations from under their feet to shaking strong enough for the need to hold on to something to keep oneself standing. 

After Elrond came Círdan. Men attempted to sail to Aman, he said, and so the blessing given to Númenor was revoked, swallowed down into the Sea. Aman, in turn, was no longer in these plains. It was gone. 

 

 

Whatever years of quiet they saw after that was but the wait for a storm brewing. Sure enough, it was not long after that that they saw war again. 

"Watch Ereinion, and Elrond to his right. Guard them," Erestor bade him as they waited for the battle that could end this age. 

The past years had been long, longer than seven years had any right to be. But ever did war stretch and deform time in this way, so that in the heat of battle a day could last in the blink of an eye, and in a siege it could stretch on as though it would never end. 

'Do not distract yourself watching me,' were the words that remained unsaid, but Glorfindel could very well hear them. It was a good reminder, for in the battlefield, duties came first, regardless of one's preferences. But the heart is a harsh dictator, and it pulled Glorfindel to Erestor though the other would soon have to leave for his own position, and would once again be out of Glorfindel's sight. 

Orodruin was before them, and also in the distance, Barad-dûr. Ever had it been their bitter view for these long years, and Glorfindel was growing sick of it. But that day they were to storm the fortress anew, and it would be chaos, but there was determination in Gil-galad that they have not seen in a long time. It was visible to many of them, and it even brought Erestor to Glorfindel's side that day. 

"Do not..." he began, then stopped. He looked at Glorfindel for a long time. 

"Do not what?" Glorfindel asked him, though he thought he knew. For many years he had been patient with Erestor, but there at the mouth of coming chaos, he felt the courage to challenge him, this cruel Elf he still could not stand to lose. 

Erestor sat upon his horse, as ready as others around him in his commander's gear. 

"Close to the end. Do not die."

 

 

Well, he said that. Glorfindel did not exactly plan for it to be a bad habit. 

Where they were, he could not even tell how the battle fared. A sudden onslaught of Orcs and Men came from the west and divided them. Glorfindel was left with half of his warriors, but as they were closest to the road that led to camp, it was not a position he could leave. They were badly outnumbered, but he supposed that meant more of the soldiers were with Gil-galad, and so Glorfindel sought to hold the hoard as best as they could manage. 

He thought they were winning, or at least he saw more of them standing, before the wounds of the day finally came upon him and he fell against his sword and his knees buckled beneath him. 

He expected to hit the ground, but something broke his fall. He must have lost consciousness for a while, for when he came to, it was to Erestor cursing and yelling. 

"Damn it. Mandos, damn you. Glorfindel, get a hold of yourself!"

"You get a hold of yourself." It was the worst injury Glorfindel had sustained in the war so far, or even in any battle, excluding that time with the Balrog. The feeling was eerily similar to the latter. "I lost the King. I also lost Elrond."

"Just be quiet, Glorfindel. " 

"Nay, it is ending. Do not lose him, Erestor."

"Who? Just-- shut up, I do not care!"

Oh, how beautiful he was. Had this been any other place, Glorfindel would have laughed. Angry, dirty, Erestor was still every bit as perfect that it was heartbreaking. They were foolish thoughts to be sure, especially here in the middle of Mordor of all places. Glorfindel could not for certain tell if he was dying all over again, but at least having Erestor's face in front of him was not a bad way to go. 

"It matters not; we are nearly done. You should find them. Leave me." He was overwhelmed with exhaustion; no battle had ever felt like this. Glorfindel was not even sure if he was speaking properly or if he was slurring the words, or even if he was making any sense. "Your peace is nigh upon us. Why do you linger when it is so close to be had?"

"What use would that be to me if you lie here dead, you fool!"

As far as confessions went, especially after so long a wait, it was very poor. Yet all the same Glorfindel's heart soared, and it brought him back to grey skies not unlike what loomed above them in that moment. The breath caught in his throat in the onslaught and he coughed and choked, and he could see how that worried Erestor. The other's brows were furrowed and his eyes shone green amid the dirt on his face. 

As far as last views went, Glorfindel could not ask for any better. And so perhaps there was no helping it when he slipped and said, "Do not cry, beloved."

But Erestor, the stubborn old fool, had never been good at being obedient. It was why he and the High King kept butting heads and Elrond, as Gil-galad often said, was a saint for keeping him. What did that make of Glorfindel, he wondered, if he coveted someone else's problem? What he would have given to have had his years in Lindon with Erestor as a constant source of headache and heartache... He missed him all the time when he was far away in Imladris. 

"Glorfindel. I told you to be quiet. You are growing delirious." 

Glorfindel was not sure what Erestor meant. Did he hear what Glorfindel was thinking? Or perhaps he said those things out loud. 

Erestor, far from confirming things, only shook his head. "You are not doing this." He looked so angry, and in the shadows of his sharp edges Glorfindel thought he also recognised fear. Terror. He held Glorfindel but it was he who was shaking. "Not again, do you hear me? I will not lose you again!"

But after that was bright light, white and blinding. It swept the lands so that all that remained standing fell on their feet, as though the air around them suddenly felt too heavy to bear. That was the last thing that Glorfindel saw; there was lightness, and then, no more. 

 

 

Glorfindel was not very good with endings. For one, in another life, he died, and frankly it was difficult to tell if he developed a pattern in his next life. 

He woke to songs sung in the distance. After so long in Mordor, it was almost as if he had forgotten what such things were like. 

Next came sight. Glorfindel blinked to dim twilight, to white curtains in purple light swaying in the wind. And then: dark hair, a tall figure, that fair face. 

"Am I dead and dreaming?"

Erestor tipped his head. "Do the dead dream?"

"They do little else."

The other sighed and frowned at Glorfindel. "And why would I be here if you were?"

Glorfindel smiled at him. Trust Erestor to still be dense and frowning at a time like this. And Glorfindel, fool that he was, would still fail at coming up with a sight he preferred above what he had now. 

"You have ever been in my dreams," he said softly. He held up a hand, though why he did so when he still expected nothing, he did not know. But Erestor surprised him then, for he stepped forward and gave Glorfindel his hand, even let him pull it so that there were fingers touching Glorfindel's face; and then, a palm, warm and right, and not at all as rough as Glorfindel expected them to be after all this time. He sighed. "If Lórien, even Mandos, were to give me rest, then they would give me you."

Somehow, something in Erestor's face changed. It twisted as though he was in pain, but instead of leaving, he bent towards Glorfindel and even sat at the side of his bed. His touch was surprisingly gentle for one so harsh and saddled by so much. 

When Erestor kissed him, so overwhelmed was Glorfindel that he could not move. His voice caught on his throat so that there escaped him but a small sound, not quite of pleasure, for certainly the tightness in his chest was more suffocating than anything else. But Erestor's lips were soft and warm. Soon, Glorfindel's hands even found Erestor's face, pulled him closer so the kiss was almost crushing. His eyes watered at it all---the lack of breath, the strain of his wounds, and finally, after so long, the letting go.

"You have fallen once and I have known it," spoke Erestor, when he broke the kiss. He lingered though so that the words were breathed against Glorfindel's lips. "I know I cannot take it, should it happen again. But I also now know that you are with me regardless were I to guard against it or not, and there is only more to regret if I continue to deny it. Can you forgive me?"

Glorfindel's heart, as it always did, went to him. "There is nothing to forgive. I hurt you. If anything, it is I who must apologise, for I was the one who left you. I must have scared you in those fields." To this, Erestor sighed and shook his head. Glorfindel looked at him longer, given that he had opportunity to do so now. He saw the sadness in those eyes. "Whom did we lose?" 

Erestor's eyes lowered at the question. "The High King." 

Glorfindel's own eyes closed. So that was what it was. "I am sorry," he said, even as his own heart mourned. That was another king lost under his watch. What was the use of returning someone with such poor record? He did not know what the Valar were thinking. 

There were fingers again on his cheek, and they pulled him gently towards green eyes. "It is not your fault. It was even a worthy end. He was felled by Sauron himself."

There was little that can be said to comfort, however, and they both knew it. Glorfindel sighed and looked around them. He did not recognise where they were, and the place was no Elven realm he knew. Gondor, perhaps? 

"Even so, I sense a lightness in the air. Is it over?" He turned to Erestor. "You kiss me. Is it finally the peace you were waiting for?" Glorfindel smiled at him, though the air around them was subdued still and the laments continued in the distance. "Ever have I wished for you to find your peace, not so much so you would have me, but because I want for you to finally have that happiness."

He had only ever known Erestor in times of turmoil. They met at an age of strife, living so close to the realm of Morgoth. And then again, they reunited at a time when Middle-Earth needed the aid and blessing of the Valar, so that Glorfindel was sent back to see the end of yet another age. 

Erestor, older now by two ages, looked down at Glorfindel. After everything that Erestor had been through, it was the first time that Glorfindel wondered what it was that the other saw whenever he looked at Glorfindel. Erestor always talked of his peace, of what it promised, one he equated with a time that he would be with Glorfindel at last. At least, in all the years of their acquaintance, that was what he led Glorfindel to understand. 

But he looked now as one resolved. "I think," he began, his fingers in Glorfindel's hair, "this time around, as long as you are here, then it is peace enough."

\- fin - 

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, for a one-shot for a prompt, what even
> 
> I also think that there is a story in between this one and 'Something Lost, Something Found'. This was not the sequel I had in mind forthe original story actually, but this somehow grew into that universe while I wrote it so I just went with it. :)
> 
> (Also, yes, yes, I may have completely ignored the value of Aegnor's refusal of Andreth by having my OTP mate at a time of war. Sue me, okay. Erestor was Fëanorian; impatience is in their culture, idk. *actually has no respectable excuse*)


End file.
